Idiota
by Suffocated Entity
Summary: If Romano had to pick the one thing he hated most in the world, it would have to be stupidity: from his moronic brother, from that self-absorbed Prussian, and on occasion, from himself.


**I wrote this two years ago for a friend. I just found it in my documents folder, so I thought, why the hell not upload it? Enjoy!**

* * *

_Idiota_

After all the time Romano had so wonderfully spent with his brother, it was safe to say that the little _idiota _put him in the most asinine of predicaments.

Right now, with adventurous, pale fingers stuffed down the front of his pants and an even paler set of lips sucking away at the hollow of his throat, Romano felt the truth of that statement for all it was worth.

* * *

"Are you an idiot?"

The entire fiasco started with these simple words. Well, not exactly... It really started out earlier with these slightly more annoying ones:

"_Veeee~! _Romanoooo! Do you want to come to Germany's house with me tonight? He invited his brother to come, too! You know Gilly, right?! It'll be so fun if you can come! We'll talk, and play games, and have pasta! You'll come, right? Please come, brother! I can't go without youuuuuuuuu!"

As Feliciano had his scrawny arms wrapped around his brother's neck in a death grip, bouncing about the entire room and fueled by that endless supply of good 'ol Italian spirit, the only thing Romano could spare was a glare. Responses, or even breaths for that matter, were out of the question when Feliciano was trying to be persuasive.

It took a decent bit of struggling until the northern Italian had finally loosened his grip to allow his brother to speak. And then that's when those four simple words came in to play.

The truth was, Romano hated that potato-sucking, work-loving, moronic German. It wasn't just because he was an idiot, but it was more of the fact that he stole Feliciano right from his hands. Ludwig had taken his brother. He had _corrupted _the epitome of innocence with all of his filthiness. This, by a normal person's standards, was an action that was very hard to forgive. With Romano's reluctance to forgive in the first place, it was rather easy to see that he would never see eye to eye with the blonde ever again. But, what was worse than that was that he had brainwashed his brother _into loving him. _It had been at least a year now since Feliciano and that piece of shit decided to go out together. Ever since that dreadful day, they had become inseparable. And now, that inseparable streak was to be continued tonight.

It was such a stupid idea Feliciano had. Romano would never go with him. He would never subject himself to that blonde's cringe-inducing presence. Not now. Not _ever._

* * *

Romano mumbled those words violently under his breath from the corner of the room as he sneered at the back of Ludwig's head. The glass of merlot in his hands was left untouched. His stomach couldn't handle anything at the moment; especially something from a German household.

It didn't matter that Romano came to the party in the end. He had _agreed _to come. Surely Feliciano didn't have the power to drag him here. Nope. Of course not.

Anyway, just because he was there did not mean that he had the obligation to talk to anyone. Romano did not greet either that muscle-head prick or his scrawny bitch of a burn-out brother when he trudged into the room with his own _fratello, _and the southern Italian was proud to say that not one word left him since he arrived two hours ago.

Just curses left his lips, and those of course, did not count.

Feliciano jumped up into Ludwig's arms and started to giggle. Romano's wine glass almost shattered in his hands."Germanyyyy! Let's go for a walk~!"

The blonde heaved a sigh, eying him wearily. "Do we have to?"

_Excuse me? That did not sound very excited, you piece-of-shit bastard. _Despite silent facade, Lovino was livid beyond measure. _How dare you seem unenthusiastic to go for a walk with my fratello! He does so much for your undeserving ass, and now, when he wants one tiny thing, you don't want to do it? You dirty fuck. I hate you, I loathe you, but when my brother wants something, you better well as hell give it to him before I rip you a new asshole._

Too busy with his inner threats, the brunette completely missed Ludwig's nod of approval and the couple's departure through the front door. When Lovino stormed out of his reverie, to only see the missing forms of an Italian and German, he all but screamed, "Where the _fuck _did they go?!"

"They left."

Lovino almost jumped when he received an answer to that. Who in the name of God said that? When his frantic eyes scanned the room, they were met by the amused smirk of a certain albino.

Oh, yeah. That fag's still here.

And what the hell was he doing? He was just standing there. Thin lips were curled upwards, eyes the color of his merlot glinted softly, and the exposed white of his collarbone clashed with the darkness of his button-down. Lovino wasn't one to stare, or one to even admit that he was staring, but at the moment, he couldn't take his eyes off the other.

A husky laugh brought the brunette to his senses. "You see something you like?" Just the way the words left him, how he held himself, and the way he sloshed his mug of beer around made Romano want to punch him in the face. If there was one thing he he hated, it was unreasonable haughtiness. And Germans, but that was besides the point.

"Go fuck yourself." His reply was curt, and tan fingers clenched the stem of his glass with frightening intensity.

Gilbert wiggled his pale eyebrows and took a big gulp of his beer. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His vision was turning red, and his tan fists were twitching wildly around his wine glass. It was a miracle in itself that the glass wasn't already shattered against the wall in thousands of dangerous, glistening crystals, the wine staining the plain cocoa walls burgundy. The entire reason why Romano was able to exercise such outstanding control over himself was simply because of the wine. When rage comes into play, there's nothing better than a little wine to help the fury.

Romano slugged back the merlot before he placed the emptied glass down and crossed his arms across his chest. "Sorry. I'm not into trash."

At the presence of the insult, the Germanic man gave a hearty laugh. "I'm trash?" His black-booted feet took a few steps towards the furious Italian, and once he was only a few feet away, the albino licked his lips and took another beer. "I bet you'd do this awesome piece of trash if you were wasted beyond recognition." Gil sipped his beer, his eyes wild with excitement, his brows angled in pride. "That wouldn't be too hard to do, either, since I've heard you're one hell of a lightweight."

Romano growled. "I am not!"

A smirk."Prove it."

And everyone knows this Italian would never back out of a challenge, because he certainly was not a lightweight, and he had his pride to defend.

* * *

Even if he was a lightweight it didn't matter, because both of them were too smashed to even remember what they were doing in the first place.

All alone, a good deal later, the two found themselves in a tangled mess on the couch. The Prussian's fingertips were drawing lazy circles against the flesh beneath the Italian's underwear, and their lips were practically glued together. Lips, teeth, and tongue were blurred into one as both boys struggled to get the other to make a sound. Noises, of course, were a sign of weakness, and neither of them were keen on showing it.

Romano's mind was a mess of sensation. There were just too many things going on at once for him to compute. Good, wet friction in his mouth. A pleasant, cloudy buzz in his head. A soft warmth in his pants that he never seemed to get enough of. It overwhelmed him, it consumed it, and all Romano could do was kiss back.

And this was the second time that night Romano found himself saying those four simple words, "Are you an idiot?"

The only difference was the fact that they weren't directed towards his brother. They were directed towards himself. For once.

* * *

**Loved it? Hate it? Was it so lack-luster that you don't feel affected in any way, shape, or form? Let me know your feelings, or lack of feelings, in a review!**


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